The ant from Sivas

The giant Kizilirmak was flowing,

Foaming, foaming.

Beneath a telegraph pole,

Calm as time itself

He was walking,

An ant from Sivas.

On the opposite bank, bay horses,

Shining, shining,

Were neighing.

Far from the horses' sound

The ant was walking

Not comprehending the distance.

His sound was the sound of his footsteps

Happy and contented

It was heard heroic.

Sainted with the feet of hunger

He was walking

On the earth.

From the ease of his going it was clear

He knew with savor

Mountains, streams, grasses.

Leaving one group of ants

He was walking

Toward other ants.

By effort, labor, tirelessness

He resembled

Those from Africa, China, Paris,

Black upon the black earth's brow.

Unaware of ideas and causes

It was not for a dream

He was walking.

For a grain of wheat

He was walking,

The ant from Sivas.

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